One-Click Buy: September 2010 Silhouette Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  “As a token of his esteem for his lover, and as the only way he could show his thanks for the gift of his sons, he set her up in the cottage where you now stay and gave her a necklace set with a massive ruby, known as La Verdad del Corazon.”

  “The Heart’s Truth? Have I got that right?”

  “Sí, it was a family heirloom.”

  “He must have loved her very much to give her the necklace.”

  “Well, that is under dispute. Apparently, the necklace—or more particularly the stone itself—was supposed to represent the family’s strength and prosperity. It was a gift which was to be endowed upon each new bride. Why he gave it to his lover, well, that is anyone’s guess.”

  “Why is it under dispute? Surely the fact he gave it to her should be enough proof of his love?”

  “One would have thought so, however when the boys were in their teens, the baron’s wife died and he entered into a new marriage contract with a woman from a high-ranking French family. Some say it was for financial and political gain, but there was no need, then, for him to continue to advance the family fortunes. He was already the wealthiest man on Isla Sagrado, and one of the wealthiest in all of Spain and France.”

  “He married someone else?” Rina was shocked. “After she’d waited for him all that time?”

  “Ah, I see you’re a romantic at heart. You think he, a Baron, should have married his daughters’ governess?”

  “Well, of course he should!”

  Reynard shook his head gently. “Such was not the way of things then. A commoner, while good enough to warm the sheets of the noble classes, could never marry above their station.”

  “That’s just disgusting.” Rina reached for the glass of cava that had appeared during Rey’s storytelling. “He owed it to her.”

  “Well, it appears she felt much as you do. According to legend, she was apparently crazed with grief at what she saw as his betrayal, so she broke into the wedding festivities at the castillo and publicly accused the Baron of stealing her sons. Of course, he decried her statement but what is said to have made matters worse was her own sons refuting her claim as well—saying she was not their mother. She became uncontrollable and the Baron ordered his soldiers to take her below the castillo, to the cliff caves where cells were kept for unfortunates such as her.

  “But before they could drag her away she cursed the Baron and his children, all nine of them, swearing that if in nine generations they could not learn to marry and live their lives by honor, truth and love, the family and all its branches would die out forever.”

  “She cursed her own children?”

  Rey shrugged. “She was mad, what can I say?”

  “Driven mad, more like. And then to have her own flesh and blood turn their backs on her?” Rina nodded slowly. “I can see why she’d have done it. But I imagine she regretted it with every bone in her body.”

  “We will never know if she felt regret. They say she broke free of her captors once they reached the tunnels below the castillo and ran down one in particular that led to an opening in the cliff face above the rocks. The legend says that as the soldiers closed in behind her, she ripped La Verdad del Corazon from her neck and cast it into the sea, saying it would only return to the family once the curse was broken. Then she followed the necklace into the savage ocean below.”

  “Oh, no. That’s awful.”

  “Tragic, yes. Her body was washed up by the waves within days, but the necklace was never seen again.”

  “And her curse? Has it really happened?”

  Rey shrugged. “Who is to say if she has seen her wishes come true or not? The family lines have certainly diminished over the past three hundred years. But that is only normal given the circumstances of wars, ill health and general bad luck. From the direct line of the sons, reputed to be hers—remember, there is no proof—only Abuelo, Alex, Benedict and myself remain. And my brothers and I are the ninth generation.”

  “Honor, truth and love. Those are the words on your family crest aren’t they?” Rina took another sip of her wine, enjoying the dance of bubbles across her tongue before she swallowed.

  “They are. I didn’t know you’d seen that,” Rey nodded.

  “I saw it on the doors to your office, the day of Benedict’s accident. I suppose it makes sense that she’d have chosen those three provisos if she felt her lover had not abided by them. So, have you?”

  “Have I what?”

  “Have you abided by them? Is the curse broken?”

  Eight

  She had the nerve to sit there and judge him? Rey bit back his instinctive response and schooled his features into a pleasant smile.

  “Now what would make you think we del Castillos would live any other way?”

  Sara—no, Sarina, he corrected himself—twirled the long stemmed champagne flute on the tabletop in front of her, eyeing him from beneath her long, dark lashes as if considering her reply very carefully. As well she should, he thought. She wasn’t who she said she was, so she could hardly harp on about truth now, could she?

  “Well, I was just thinking about what the governess said and how she phrased her curse. It’s as if she wanted to remind her lover of his family’s creed. Clearly, she felt he had not lived by it.”

  “She had gone mad. Who knows what she was thinking any more? Now, enough of history.” Rey leaned forward and fixed her with a stare. “How about you tell me a little about your family? We’ve had so little opportunity to learn about ourselves beyond the obvious. I think it’s time we got to know one another a little better, don’t you?”

  Her pupils dilated somewhat, before settling back to normal—the only visible sign of any fear. Oh, she was very good at this, he reluctantly acknowledged. If his suspicions hadn’t been roused and if the damning information on the Internet hadn’t been available, he’d never have suspected any different.

  “What do you want to know?”

  She was hedging; he knew it as surely as he knew the sun rose and fell each day. He reached across the table and gathered her left hand in his, his thumb gently swinging the diamond solitaire he’d put on her sister’s finger, back and forth.

  “Siblings? Parents? What sort of things did you get up to growing up?”

  To his surprise she smiled. “One sibling—a sister, one surviving parent and mischief, generally. What about you?”

  So she was already trying to turn the tide of conversation back to him. He hid his irritation behind a laugh.

  “Oh, mischief also, most definitely. My parents died in an avalanche many years ago. Abuelo had the joy of seeing my brothers and me through our teenage years. No doubt that has aged him unfairly.”

  “I doubt that. If anything, I would imagine trying to keep you three in line kept him youthful. And from the way he is with you and your brothers, I’m sure he wouldn’t have it any other way. I am very sorry to hear you lost your parents so young, though.”

  “Thank you. What about you? Tell me about your parents.” It would be too obvious if he asked about her sister right away—he wanted to ease her in to it. Get her to open up, let her guard down, perhaps show her true colors.

  She smiled and her eyes took on a faraway look. “For as long as I can remember, they were constantly competing with one another. I suppose, to an outsider, it was a rather strange marriage but it seemed to work for them. They fed on one another’s need to be the best at everything. I think that’s why they encouraged my sister and me into competitive sport. Winning was everything. It didn’t matter if it was a game of cards, or the best vegetables, sport or anything. Sometimes they worked together to win against someone else, sometimes apart to compete against one another.

  “It wasn’t always…easy at home. Anyway, Dad died suddenly a couple of years ago, complications from pneumonia. It came as a heck of a shock to us all but while Mum still grieves for him, she’s come to accept his death—and, with him gone, there’s no further fierce competition. She seems more settled than she did before. Happie
r to take life at a slower pace, I guess.”

  “And your sister? What is she doing?”

  Sarina’s lips parted and she started to speak but then hesitated. Obviously gathering her thoughts together.

  “This and that. She was recently engaged but it didn’t work out.”

  That was interesting—the newspaper article he’d read gave the impression that she was still engaged. Was she lying? No, it seemed more likely that the engagement had truly ended—perhaps because she didn’t manage to successfully fleece the poor idiot who’d asked her to marry him, Rey thought.

  “She’s been working as a kind of Girl Friday for the past couple of years, basically a problem solver for people—she has a knack for sorting things out, raising business profiles where necessary and creating calm where there’s chaos—she’s a bit of a Jill of all trades, but I think she’s ready for a change now.”

  “You two are close?”

  “Very close,” she agreed and reached for her nearly empty wine glass.

  “More wine?” he asked. Perhaps he could encourage her to be less guarded with her responses if she had a little more to drink.

  “Thank you, that would be lovely.”

  Their waiter chose that moment to return to their table with a selection of the local tapas the restaurant specialized in. Reynard chose several of them and after the waiter set the dishes out, and explained each one in turn, he took their order for another glass of Cava for Sarina and a Tempranillo for Reynard.

  He nodded his acceptance to the waiter before leaning forward to select a crisp golden croquette and hold it to Sarina’s lips.

  “Here, try this. I think you’ll like it.”

  She obediently opened her mouth and he popped the tiny croquette inside, allowing her lips to close over his fingers before he withdrew them. He saw the surprise on her face at his lingering touch on her lips before the flavors of the morsel of food exploded in her mouth. An expression of sheer pleasure crossed her face, an expression not unlike that of a woman deep in the throes of lovemaking. Despite his simmering anger, passion pooled deep in his gut, sending blood to one particular extremity where it pulsed with demanding need. He’d been a fool to be taken in by her pretense for so long. He should have known from the first moment he had touched her that she wasn’t Sara. While the twins were uncannily identical, his response to the two of them couldn’t be more different. The woman he’d proposed to had never fired his blood the way the woman sitting before him now did with every gesture, every touch.

  “That is divine,” she said after a few moments. “What was it, again?”

  “Croquetas de gambas, translated, prawn croquettes.”

  He was relieved she’d finished the morsel. Watching her eat it, watching the cascade of delight pass across her features, had been a torture all in itself.

  “I think I like the Spanish term best. Hmm, croquetas de gambas. Yes, I like the way it rolls off the tongue almost as much as it rolls onto it.”

  Rey helped himself to one of the minicroquettes and let his teeth sink into the crispy coating before the soft filling spilled across his taste buds. Yes, he could understand why she’d gone into such raptures over the snack. It was truly delicious.

  “You’ve got a crumb, just there.”

  Sarina reached across the table and wiped the bottom edge of his lip with her thumb, her touch leaving a flame of heat against his skin. She sat back suddenly, her eyes a little glazed. Had she felt that same burn along her skin as he had? He hoped so. She deserved as much torment as he could possibly put her through.

  “Thanks,” he said, with a slow smile calculated to both put her at ease with the intimacy of her touch and her reaction to it.

  He steered the conversation into more desultory topics as they enjoyed the rest of the tapas selection. She had one more glass of wine, while he nursed his single glass, mindful of the dinner he had planned back at the apartment, the necessity to keep a clear head. Aside from the importance of keeping his wits about him while he figured out her angle, he also had to be sober enough to drive her home to the cottage again tonight.

  Unless, of course, he could persuade her to stay the night at his apartment.

  The thought of luring secrets from her while between his Egyptian cotton sheets had merit, he thought, but would she play along? Sara had kept him at arm’s length, flirting with him but never letting it go too far. For some reason he’d never felt the urge to press the issue with her, especially as he’d never held the intention of following through on the engagement. With Sarina, however, there was an inexplicable difference. Almost a yearning. From the minute she’d appeared outside his offices, he’d felt a physical connection between the two of them, and it would be all too tempting to explore it further.

  The idea took a firmer hold in his mind. How hard could it be to seduce the truth from her? he wondered. She had no idea he was onto whatever cunning plan the sisters had hatched between them.

  The sun was low on the water and a new crowd of people had entered the bar. Noisier, more flamboyant and with an edge of careless fun he had no mood to indulge in.

  He downed the last of his wine and stood, taking Sarina’s hand and encouraging her to her feet.

  “Come, it is time we went to my apartment. I have a special evening planned for us both.”

  “I don’t know if I could eat another thing after those delicious bites,” she halfheartedly protested as she tucked her clutch bag under her free arm.

  He smiled in return and leaned closer to her, his lips almost grazing the shell of her ear as he spoke.

  “I think I can tempt you to more, just you wait and see.”

  Even in the subdued lighting of the bar, he saw the flush creep across her cheeks and noted the change in pitch in her breathing.

  They strolled back toward his apartment building, a mere ten minutes away, and he allowed the silence between them to continue. Far better to allow her to consume her thoughts with what he might have in mind than to cloud them with inane conversation. Outside the restaurant, he drew her against his side, one arm casually draped across her shoulders and his fingertips tracing small patterns over the top of her bare arm.

  He felt her skin react instantly, tiny goose bumps peppering the surface, and sensed the shiver that ran through her body.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “No, not at all,” she replied, her voice slightly thick, as if she’d just woken.

  He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction, but it was short-lived because even as he recognized how his touch affected her, so did it in turn affect him. Desire could be a double-edged sword at times, he mused as he led her through the vast, glass sliding doors leading into the lobby of his building.

  He guided her into the mirrored elevator and as they traveled to the top floor he marveled anew at just how identical she and Sara were. If he hadn’t been aware of that intrinsic spark of difference in his reaction to them, he would never have been able to pick one from the other. From the lush, dark red spirals of hair, the wide-set gray eyes thickly lashed in black, to the long patrician nose and the full, deliciously sensual mouth—Sara and Sarina were mirror images of one another.

  On his floor, he swiped his electronic key to open the double doors, again carved with the family crest, and showed Sarina into his apartment. The carefully carved words seemed to leap out at him as he passed through the doors and pulled them closed behind him. Honor. Truth. Love. It was as if each word echoed in his mind. His internal response was instant and emphatic. Of course he abided by all three. How could he do anything else and still hold his head high?

  But what of the lie he’d been perpetuating with Sara? a quiet deep voice asked from within. Could he swear that he’d been truthful about that? Could he claim his actions had been fully honorable? He puffed out a breath of frustration at the train his thoughts were taking. He had no time to examine this now.

  “Is everything okay?” Sarina asked.

  “More than okay,�
� Rey said, gliding across the carpet and gathering her in his arms.

  She slid into his hold as if she’d been doing this for weeks rather than days, he thought. There was no sense of restraint, no physical holding back. Her lower stomach and thighs pressed against him and she curved into his body as if it was the most natural thing in the world to her.

  And it was certainly the most natural thing for his body to welcome hers, he thought ruefully as his pulse began to beat that bit faster and his temperature rose. The scent of her hair and the fragrance she wore wound their delicate way around him, casting a spell upon his senses.

  Sara had never affected him so deeply, he acknowledged as he stroked his hands over the bare skin of Sarina’s back. Sure, he’d been attracted to Sara. He was a hot-blooded, heterosexual male with a well-honed appreciation for a beautiful woman, but there was something about Sarina that hit a different chord with him.

  Perhaps it was the fact that he knew she was not who she claimed to be that added that extra touch of spice to being with her. He eschewed the thought even as it occurred to him. It had been different from the moment she’d arrived here, not since he’d figured out that she was an imposter.

  He tipped her chin up to his and kissed her lightly on the lips before reluctantly setting her away from him.

  “I need to check on something in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

  He needed to create some distance before he lost himself in her and forgot what he was trying to find out.

  “You cooked?”

  She followed him into the large and well-equipped kitchen.

  “I am capable of it, you know.” He laughed at the note of surprise in her voice and lifted the lid on the slow cooker he had on the bench top. Instantly, the rich aroma of the spiced lamb he’d prepared before heading into his office this morning filled the air.